The Great Dursley Failure
by Ezzie
Summary: What if Vernon Dursley had been successful in keeping Harry from Hogwarts and from learning he was a wizard? Proof that things can still happen in mysterious ways.
1. Sometimes Recognition is a Curse

Chapter 1: Sometimes Recognition is a Curse   
  
"You're late" was what Harry dreamed he wouldn't hear as he peddled as hard as he could. Sweat was dripping down his forehead as he rushed quickly in the morning summer heat towards work. He realized now there were yet more things for Mr. Fussybritches to complain about - his tardiness and his hair. Of course, Fussybritches wasn't really his boss's name, it was just a nickname that the staff gave the horrible man who yelled at you if you were so much as a minute late.   
  
And Harry had been late often in the past few weeks. Headaches and nightmares had been keeping him up most of the night. The dreams were getting progressively worse, each night introducing a new horror. He mused to himself that he could become a fiction horror writer, or perhaps moviemaker, with some of the things his mind produced during the night. It was the stuff of fiction and fantasy and with this creativity he could be a millionaire.   
  
The headaches were nothing new, but they came and went in spurts and Harry was convinced it was his eyes. He hadn't seen an optometrist since his cousin Dudley had broken his only pair of glasses five years ago, after pushing him off the roof while they were painting the house. It was a miracle Harry hadn't broken any bones, and his cousin seemed to have agreed it was some sort of unnatural phenomenon. Vernon Dursley, Harry's uncle, looked disappointed when he saw his nephew lying on the pavement, bruised and battered. Harry could almost swear that his uncle wished he had broken a bone or two and this is why Harry had left the Dursley home as soon as he graduated from Stonewall high. It was also why he was so poor and didn't have any money to see a doctor about his eyes.   
  
DING. DING.   
  
'Crap,' Harry thought to himself. He sat at the corner across from the shop waiting eagerly for traffic to stop so he could cross. He could see Mr. Fussybritches, a man who was all about his khaki pants and polo shirts, standing at the window, staring out at Harry in his moment of crisis. The light turned green and Harry ran his bike across the street, chained it up against the newspaper stand and walked quickly for the door. He made an attempt to rule his untidy hair that was now dripping with sweat and flying all over the place. He hadn't had time to even make an attempt with the silly concoction that his friends called 'hair gel'. Hair gel in Harry's hair resembled salt-water taffy more than anything else. He was almost glad he hadn't had time to use any this morning.   
  
"You're late, Potter." These words ruined any moment of joy Harry could have had when he opened the door and smelled the fresh aroma of roasted coffee beans.   
  
"Sorry Mr. Fussbridge, my alarm..."   
  
"Today your alarm, yesterday your bike. Always full of excuses, eh, Potter? Think you are better than the rest of this lot who actually managed to show up on time?" He pointed to the rest of Harry's coworkers who were smiling at customers and making espresso.   
  
"It won't happen again sir," Harry answered. When the subtle moment of disbelief in his boss's eyes subsided, he made for the break room to pick up his apron.   
  
"And tomorrow you better shower, Potter... and get a haircut! I'm trying to run a respectable establishment here."   
  
"Yes sir!" Harry responded.   
  
The coffee shop had a long counter that resembled a bar. The espresso machines were at one end and the rest was lined with big jars of cookies, pastries and breads. Behind the bar was a big mirror that gave the place a very ominous, yet light feeling. Harry always liked coming here, even when he wasn't working. Aside from the happy feeling the surroundings gave him, he had a lot of friends here that had gone to secondary school with him. He figured there were worst things he could do for a living, although at the moment he couldn't think of what they might be.   
  
"Morning Sarah," he muttered once he'd reached the break room.   
  
"Mornin' mate. Headache?" she asked softly after noting the look of agony on his face.   
  
"Yeah." He wrapped the apron around his back and gave himself a once over in the mirror.   
  
"You should see a doctor."   
  
"I would if I had the money." Sarah gave him a sympathetic look and reached up to fix his hair. She slicked it back in what he called 'greaser style'. It really was the only thing that kept it out of his eyes when it was being this unruly. Unfortunately it also made him feel like one of those guys in leather jackets from the 50's era. This is why he normally used gel, even though he hated it.   
  
Sarah was probably Harry's greatest friend in the world. She had gone to Stonewall High too and had come to work at Fussybridge's Coffee Shop while she decided what to do with the rest of her life. Mr. Fussybritches was her Uncle, and she had worked hard to get Harry a job here too. They were partners in crime, causing all kinds of trouble and she knew her Uncle would never fire her; but Harry wasn't so sure that the grumpy old man wouldn't get tired of their antics and give him the boot. But Sarah always tried to look out for him, even letting him sleep on her floor when he had left the Dursley's home, lent him money for his first apartment and made sure he was never alone on Saturday nights. She was a good friend, and he couldn't think of anyone in the world he'd rather see at 8 AM in the morning after a night without sleep.   
  
"Hi Harry!" came a cheerful voice that rang like nails on a chalkboard in his ears. "Oh Harry, you look horrible!" Sarah raised her eyebrows in amusement at him.   
  
"Thank you for noticing, Susan," he mumbled, skulked past the two of them and out onto the floor for another day of work.   
  
And as far as days went, this one was proceeding fairly normally. Sarah was keeping a close eye on him and he knew it was because she was concerned. Susan, on the other hand, was a completely different story. Harry had mixed feelings about her. Sometimes he had the feeling she'd wrap him up in a blanket and wait on him hand and foot if he let her. Other times he thought she was constantly stabbing him in the back. He couldn't even mop the floor without her offering to help and Harry was baffled as to why, considering she was so bad at it. It was as if she'd never used a mop before, or even understood the concept of how they worked.   
  
By mid-morning, Harry was exposed to yet another hilarious demonstration of her inability to do anything remotely normal. Mr. Fussybritches had ordered him onto the floor to clean up after a young child who had spilled his pop. Susan had rushed to the scene, yanked the mop from his hands and taken over. Now she was splashing water everywhere and making a general mess. Yet somehow, at the end of her efforts, the floor was spotless and perfect. Harry just figured she had an unusual technique. Her pushiness disturbed him sometimes, though, and when Harry had suggested to Sarah that Susan was 'kissing ass' she laughed at him, gave him a heavy pat on the shoulder and muttered something about him 'not understanding girls.'   
  
While Harry meditated on Susan's mopping skills, a familiar customer came into the shop. Tall, brown hair and fairly plain looking. He tried to remember as many of the regulars as he could, but he hadn't taken her order very often. Was it cocoa that she ordered or was it a latte? She approached the register and stared up at the menu for a few moments. When she dropped her eyes her jaw performed the same maneuver and she stared at him as if he was a deranged lunatic. Or maybe she was deranged? He wasn't sure.   
  
"Can I get you something?" he asked politely. She never answered.   
  
Harry whipped out his handkerchief and wiped off his face.   
  
"Do I have chocolate on my nose or something?" he asked playfully. In response she brought a hand up and rubbed her forehead. Harry knew what was coming next.   
  
"Oh that," he said. "It's just a scar from a car accident."   
  
Her eyes widened with horror.   
  
"It wasn't anything recent, though. It was when I was a baby." Harry wasn't sure why he was explaining this but the girl looked obviously disturbed by his childhood predicament.   
  
"You're Harry Potter!" she proclaimed and just as quickly the girl turned around, having forgotten her order and ran out the door.   
  
"I've said it before and I'll say it again. You have quite a way with the ladies, Potter." Sarah had crept up behind him and was now wiping her hands on a dishtowel. He frowned.   
  
Her statement wasn't far from the truth either. This wasn't the first time Sarah had witnessed a strange woman gawk at him, mumble his name and then run in the other direction. What she hadn't had the pleasure of seeing yet was the men who shook his hand instead and then engaged him in strange conversations as if they'd known him for years. Sometimes they would even mention his parents, so Harry thought they must have been old family friends. It was truly strange but had happened often enough that by the time the next customer had come in, he had put it behind him.   
  
- - -   
  
"Hermione! I'm not even dressed!"   
  
Hermione Granger looked around the room she had Apparated into and recognized the familiar space that was decorated in that strange Ron Weasley manner - orange everywhere topped off with pictures of men flying on broomsticks. She turned around and spotted the artist himself, clad only in a towel and his messy red hair.   
  
"Well get dressed!" she ordered. "I have to show you something!"   
  
She began foraging through his drawers and piles of dirty clothes like his mom on laundry day.   
  
"Are you mad! I have work! I'll be late!"   
  
"Be late, call in sick, quit, do whatever you must, but you have to see this."   
  
She shoved a pair of dirty jeans (his least favorite of course), a black tee shirt, socks and shoes into his arms. Without thinking twice about being embarrassed, she even reached into his underwear drawer, pulled out a clean pair and added it to the ensemble.   
  
"But I haven't even showered yet!" he protested as she walked out his door into the hallway.   
  
"Just hurry up!"   
  
Where on earth was she taking him and why had she chosen Muggle clothes? Ron knew her well enough to know this smelled like trouble. Not that he wasn't used to being in trouble with Hermione. He had partaken in enough fun with her at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to know that she wouldn't come Apparating in unannounced unless there was some real fun to be had. He reluctantly threw on the clothes she had picked out, ran a comb through his hair and opened the door.   
  
"Are you going to tell me where we're going?"   
  
"Just come on," she reached over, picked up his hand and Apparated them both away.   
  
Ron, out of instinct, always closed his eyes when he Apparated. There was something about the process that gave him vertigo if he didn't. When he opened them again he was standing in a narrow alleyway, surrounded on all sides by imposing bricks.   
  
"Well that was close! You could have landed us right in the building and splinched us both!" he reprimanded. She didn't seem at all offended by his nasty demeanor though.   
  
"Nonsense. This is where I Apparate to every morning. It's a safe location."   
  
"We're in London? Hermione, what on earth is going on? If you've dragged me all this way to show me some bloody book, I'm going to be really disappointed."   
  
She grabbed his hand and forcibly dragged him out of the alley and down the street.   
  
- - -   
  
"Pssst. Sarah!" Harry heard Susan whispering frantically. "Can I make orders for a while?"   
  
"Why? What's wrong with taking them? Don't make such a fuss."   
  
Harry just kept to restocking the tray of croissants. He knew enough about both the girls to avoid getting in the middle of that argument.   
  
"Please?" came the pleading.   
  
"Fine. All right! Two lattes and a hot cocoa," Sarah said loudly in an exasperated tone as she passed the espresso machine reigns onto the other girl.   
  
Harry only barely saw the two people that walked up to the bar to make their orders. He hardly even registered their presence until he felt one of them staring at him. When he turned his head he spotted the girl who had known his name earlier. This time she was with a boy who looked his own age. He was reading the menu.   
  
"Excuse me, could we have him take our order?" he heard the girl ask shyly.   
  
"Hermione, just order and lets get on with whatever you've dragged me all the way to London for," the boy pleaded impatiently with her.   
  
Sarah turned to give him a curious look and Harry walked over to join her.   
  
"Can I help you?" he asked.   
  
"Yes, I don't see it on the menu but can I get a butterbeer?" the boy asked. The girl next to him ribbed him hard with her elbow. Harry didn't even know what butterbeer was. Maybe the boy thought this really was a bar.   
  
"What on earth was that for?" her friend shouted at her.   
  
"Ron, don't be dense. He'd like a latte."   
  
"Hermione, you know I don't drink coffee. Cancel that, I'd like a..." and the voice trailed off as the red head's eyes found their way to Harry's forehead.   
  
"Bloody hell. Har... Harry Potter?"   
  
His eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. And almost predictably, his hand came up and stretched out towards him.   
  
'Well,' Harry thought to himself. 'Never happened twice in one day. This must be a new record.'   
  
He reached out and shook the other boy's hand and braced himself for the inevitable conversation that would lead nowhere and was just as mysterious as the stranger recognizing him in the first place.   
  
---   
  
by ezzie: 5/23/03   
  
I figure this is something I can work on even in the context of OoTP since it involves impossibilities imposed by the 'what if' scenerio of Harry having never made it to Hogwarts. We'll see where this goes. I expect it to have quite a few chapters.   
  
This is inspired (shamefully) by a boy who works at my local Starbucks who is the spitting image of Mary GrandPre's Harry on the cover of the US edition of OoTP. I'm sure he wouldn't want to know that he has inspired this, although I'm guessing he is going to get 'the wow did you know you look like Harry?' question a lot now. Poor boy. 


	2. Realizing Everything Was A Lie

Chapter 2: Realizing Everything Was A Lie   
  
"So... you work in a coffee shop," the red haired boy said. Compared to other occurrences of the _stranger phenomenon_ as Harry had come to call it, this obvious statement was not as bad as others he had heard, such as _so you're here on the street_.   
  
The three of them, Harry and the two strangers, were sitting at one of the customer tables. They had waited nearly an hour for him to go on lunch break. Looking back on things later, Harry would single out that as the identifiable moment where he knew this wasn't just another chance meeting.   
  
They had spent that hour drinking coffee. Well, the girl did anyway. After learning that there was no _butterbeer_ to be had, the boy settled on cocoa. Then they whispered to themselves and stared as Harry made coffee. He felt like an animal in a zoo. It was discomforting, at best. Sometimes the girl would nudge the boy and shortly afterwards they would argue about something.   
  
Sarah had moved on from her gentle teasing about the girl to full on harassment about the boy. But it was just for fun and Harry knew it was because she noticed the look of concern on his face. As his best friend, she had suffered through talks about his family, the mysterious "hush hush" policy about his parents and how his aunt had always rushed him away from these types of strangers. But Harry felt himself oddly attracted to them. He was simply curious, and nineteen years of odd meetings hadn't changed that.   
  
"Yeah, I do work here. Look, I can't talk long. One of the girls had to go home sick," Harry said as he remembered the absolute horror on Susan's face as she proclaimed she was about to vomit. She ran out of the shop quickly and now they were short handed.   
  
"Oh, Ok." The two strangers looked at one another but neither of them seemed to have anything to say.   
  
"I suppose you wanted to talk about my parents?" Harry offered, leading them on.   
  
"What makes you think that?" the girl who had previously introduced herself as Hermione asked.   
  
"It's just what most people ask me about." They looked relieved.   
  
"I actually wanted to know why you tell people you got that scar in a car accident," Ron asked.   
  
"Uh." Harry wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. "Because that's how I got it." The reply came off sounding a tad more defensive than he had intended and as a result, they changed the subject.   
  
Harry's first impression was that Ron talked a lot and Hermione was pushy. The red haired boy just stammered on while she looked around nervously. It was as if she was worried someone would find her here. The rest of the conversation was going as it always did though. _Your parents, great people. So glad I ran into you. Can't wait to tell all my friends that I met Harry Potter._   
  
Ron hadn't asked for an autograph yet, but experience told Harry it was only a matter of time.   
  
"My brother Bill, went to school with your parents. They were in the same House of course. My entire family has been in Gryffindor."   
  
That was new information for Harry. He tucked it away along with other bits and pieces he had learned over the years in these conversations. He had an entire journal dedicated to it. This tidbit would go right along with notes about a school named Hogwarts, which Sarah was unable to find a reference to online. That was okay though because some other strange chap had alluded to the fact that it was a sort of secret school. Harry remembered he had jotted that down in blue ink and highlighted it in yellow.   
  
After that little encounter when he was thirteen, Harry had thought his parents might be spies of some sort, living secret lives and going to great lengths to protect him from the enemy. He thought maybe that was why his parents had left him with the Dursleys. After all, any spy agency researching the Dursleys would realize how much Aunt Petunia hated her sister and there was no way Lily Evans would ever leave her son with them. It made perfect sense to Harry until he was about seventeen when he gave that idea up along with all of his other foolish childhood fantasies.   
  
"And my other brother Charlie, he's in Romania now working with dragons." Dragons? That was childhood fantasy number 73 and it earned Ron another sharp elbow in the ribs as Hermione looked around nervously.   
  
"What?" Ron asked her, somewhat annoyed.   
  
"Not so loud. They're going to think you're a raving lunatic," Hermione said in a low voice.   
  
It took all of Harry's tact to keep from telling Ron that he thought him a lunatic already. But maybe 'dragon' was a secret code word; Harry allowed himself a brief moment of pure fantasy and thought perhaps he should indulge himself in the spy scenario for a few minutes. He also didn't want these strangers to stop talking to him; it was fascinating, so he pretended to understand what 'dragon' meant, nodded his head and drank his tea.   
  
"So, Harry," Hermione began, clearly intending to turn the subject away from dragons. "Where did you go to school? I would have thought you'd go to your parents alma mater."   
  
"Ah. No. My Aunt and Uncle would never pay for me to go to a private school. I went to Stonewall High."   
  
Hermione gave him a sort of funny look. "Oh? Is that in Britain? I didn't realize there were other _special_ schools in the country. And Hogwarts is free, you know. It's run and paid for by the Ministry."   
  
"The Ministry?" he asked in between sips of tea. "I'm sorry, I haven't heard of that. I don't know a lot about my parent's lives."   
  
And as expected, that's when Hermione realized something was wrong with Harry. She got a look of half shock, half horror and inability to breathe just like everyone who trampled this far into conversation with Harry had. She grabbed Ron by the scruff of the neck and ran out the door shouting. "We'll be right back, don't move."   
  
Usually they didn't stick around to chat, so that was a plus, Harry figured. Ron and Hermione were now outside speaking directly into each other's ears attempting to keep passersby from listening. They looked nervous, unsure and Harry thought he might even use the word frantic.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"No way. Absolutely no way," Ron said quietly to her.   
  
"It's obvious isn't it? He has no idea! Stonewall High? I bet that's a public Muggle school. Ron, he doesn't know his parents were wizards."   
  
"But wouldn't that mean he doesn't know he's one either?"   
  
"Yeah," she said with the _duh_ look on her face.   
  
"We have to tell him," Ron said excitedly.   
  
"Are you crazy? We can't tell Harry Potter he's a wizard!   
  
"Would you listen to yourself? This is Harry Potter! He's... he's a bloody wizard, why shouldn't he know? It's not like we'd be telling some Muggle that he's a wizard."   
  
"Okay, good point, but it shouldn't be us."   
  
"Why not? Hermione, think about it! If he had come to Hogwarts, we might have been friends. Both of his parents were in Gryffindor, so he would have been also! He would have been my roommate! We have to tell him!"   
  
Hermione sighed in that way she did when about to give in to one of Ron's harebrained schemes. She could tell he had thought this through already. There would be no stopping him.   
  
"Okay, but we can't do it here or now. He's about to go off break, and the last thing we need is the Ministry sweeping in on us because he demanded a demonstration or something. We should ask him to meet us later."   
  
"But what if he doesn't. Gods, Hermione he probably thinks we're lunatics."   
  
"Yeah, with you mumbling about dragons and what not."   
  
"Think!" he urged on frantically while ignoring her insult. "Where should he meet us?"   
  
"How about the Leaky Cauldron? We'll ask for a private room."   
  
"Brilliant. Let's go ask him."   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
When they returned, they sat down quietly, looked around and then they leaned in close.   
  
"Look, we know you have to go, but we'd like to chat later about something important," Hermione began.   
  
"_Really_ important," Ron added.   
  
"Can you meet us tonight at say, six? Alone? There is a restaurant we like to go to."   
  
Harry was flabbergasted. This was definitely farther than anyone else had ever wanted to take the conversation. Now they wanted him to go to dinner? But he immediately remembered something; he was poor and couldn't afford to eat out. Then again, this was too tempting. This was too precious. What if it turned out he learned something profound about his parents? What if they really weren't dead? Yeah, this was worth it, he figured. He'd just order a glass of water or something else cheap from the menu.   
  
"All right," he replied. They looked thrilled. Harry fetched a pen and a napkin from behind the bar counter and Hermione wrote down the address. She had neat curly writing - typical female penmanship (Sarah had it as well). But Harry began to think Ron a little strange when he stared at Hermione's writing as if he'd never seen anyone do such a thing. He picked up the pen and looked at it funny. Harry had told him he could keep it. Maybe he just collected pens.   
  
  
  
Sarah wasn't as sure about this as Harry was. _What if they try to kill you?_ It was as valid point. They were strangers and they were about to lure him alone into a strange restaurant. But it was still daylight and if things didn't seem safe he would just leave.   
  
Harry stood on Charing Cross Road by himself, attempting to look as normal as possible. The crumpled napkin that Hermione had so neatly scribbled onto was in his pocket, soaking up the sweat on his hands. He realized this might possibly be another memento for the journal he had kept. He took his hands out of his pockets and rubbed them on his jeans, hoping he hadn't smeared the ink too badly.   
  
He heard a woman call his name and turned around to see Hermione and Ron rushing across the street, dodging a few cars. She was carrying something black in her hands.   
  
"Hey. Come on, it's this way."   
  
The three of them walked together back to the other side of the road and down a ways. Then they stopped and Hermione unfolded the black cloth in her hands.   
  
"This is going to sound really strange, but you need to put this on," she instructed. It was a big coat of some kind, with a hood. This was quickly becoming more than alarming on the _psycho killer_ front.   
  
"I don't think so. Look, this is really weird. You two are really weird and as curious as I am, I just don't think this is wise." With that, Harry began to back away.   
  
"Wait! Let me explain." He began to walk faster and so did she. "You know how we recognized you? Well we're about to go to a place where everyone will recognize you. This is just to hide your identity until we get somewhere private. I swear."   
  
He stopped. Her argument made some sort of sense to him and they turned back. He reluctantly put the coat on and she covered his head. "Just keep it covering your forehead."   
  
"Aren't people going to think I look a little strange in this? I look like the Grim Reaper or something."   
  
"Where we're going, this is far from strange." Maybe it was a Goth nightclub, Harry thought.   
  
They stopped in front of a tiny shop whose storefront was only as wide as the door. It was painted black and the sign above them was so faded that Harry could barely make out the words _The Leaky Cauldron_. Cauldrons? That brought interesting imagery into Harry's' mind. When Hermione pushed the door open, Harry's _dark and dangerous_ alarm went off. There wasn't a single ray of natural lighting inside and he wasn't sure this was a good idea. The idea of turning and running seemed good. What was it Sarah had said? Oh yes, _maybe they're going to try to kill you_. Dark rooms, candle lighting and a black cloak definitely made this sound like some sort of cult ritual killing. His heart began racing, but for some reason he felt the need to be here.   
  
When the three of them stepped inside, the door slammed closed behind them and Harry could see now that the room was well lit with candles. It was a pub of some kind with a bar and tables. He kept his head down as much as possible like Hermione had instructed, but he could still see the faces sitting around the room. Old ugly women, men with long pipes and people in stranger garb than he was in. They had been right. Here, no one seemed to mind that he looked like some sort of kid on Halloween. Is this the sort of people his parents had been?   
  
"Hello there, what can I do for you three today?" asked a man behind the bar in a thick Scottish accent.   
  
"We need a private room, Tom."   
  
"Sure thing lads, and will ya be havin' dinner tonight?"   
  
"Yes," Hermione answered.   
  
"And probably a _lot_ of drinking, too," Ron followed up.   
  
"Excellent. That's what I like to hear! This way."   
  
Tom led them to the back of the pub where there was a medium sized room with a quaint table. He set down menus and waited for them to be seated.   
  
"Well then, what shall I start you out with tonight?"   
  
"How about a pitcher of butterbeer? Oh, and do you have those tasty lamb sausages tonight?" Ron asked excitedly.   
  
"Anything for you Mr. Weasley. Coming right up."   
  
Tom left and shut the door. Harry timidly lifted his head.   
  
"You might want to leave that on for a while, at least until Tom doesn't need to make anymore visits," Hermione suggested. She picked up the menu and began to read. Harry did the same, but was quickly distracted by something on the wall behind Hermione.   
  
It was a picture of a man in a suit of armor. And it was moving. Harry dropped his menu.   
  
"Hey, Hermione, how about splitting a roast? Mum hasn't made it in forever and I love the sauce they use here."   
  
"Okay, but I was really looking to have toad in the hole. I hear it's good here."   
  
Harry heard them talking but wasn't really listening. The suit of armor bowed to him and waved. It was as if it knew he was there and was responding to him. Maybe this was one of those interactive televisions? Technology was a good sign. It really played into the spy fantasy well. He looked down at his menu.   
  
Haggis - 9 sickles per pluck. Feeds 12.   
  
Sheep Brains - 5 sickles per half brain.   
  
Raw Chicken Livers - 4 sickles per liver.   
  
Harry thought he might be ill, what kind of restaurant was this? And what in the world was a sickle?   
  
"I don't think I'm really hungry," he said, timidly putting down his menu.   
  
"What?" Ron said. "You have to try the..." but he stopped when he realized Harry was staring at something behind Hermione. Everyone turned to find the knight picking up his bow and arrow and killing a white hart with it. Then he plucked it limb from limb and began to roast it over a fire.   
  
Hermione and Ron looked at each other and then back at Harry.   
  
"I guess explanations are better soon rather than later?" she suggested in an amused voice.   
  
Harry merely nodded silently, mouth open in shock.   
  
Tom opened the door and set down a silver pitcher of something, three glasses and a plate of thin sausages.   
  
"Ready to order?" he asked.   
  
"Yes!" Ron said enthusiastically. "We'll have a small roast with potatoes, yams, all of that, an order of toad in the hole. What do you want mate?" he asked Harry, who suddenly wasn't feeling well.   
  
"Nothing. I didn't bring any money."   
  
"Don't worry about it. This one is on me."   
  
"No, I can't let you do that," Harry shot back timidly.   
  
"Trust me when I say I owe you more than dinner. Pick out something."   
  
"Uh, ok. Um. Do you have hamburgers?"   
  
Harry could barely see Tom's face, but he could tell he was somewhat confused. Hamburgers didn't seem to be a problem though and when Ron was finished ordering just about everything else on the menu, Tom nodded and left.   
  
"You can probably take that off now," Hermione said, referring to the black tarp Harry was hiding under. It was almost a relief to take it off as it was swelteringly hot underneath, but now he felt somewhat exposed.   
  
Ron poured a glass of a cold butterscotch colored liquid into a glass and pushed it towards Harry.   
  
"Good stuff, butterbeer. Can't imagine someone who has never had it. Go on, mate, try it."   
  
Harry lifted the glass to his nose and sniffed it. It smelled like candy. When he drank it, he discovered it was sort of buttery, tangy and sweet all at the same time.   
  
"Good huh?"   
  
"Yeah, thanks."   
  
The three of them sat in silence for a moment or two. Hermione and Ron seemed to be communicating to each other in a silent sort of way. Ron's eyebrows raised and Hermione shook her head. Then Harry figured Ron must have kicked her under the table because she yelped quietly, jumped and then gave him a dirty look.   
  
"So we have something rather... shocking to tell you. And it's going to sound really strange, and in fact you might already know and I'm hoping you do because I don't know how else to tell you because it's not really like people get to say this to Harry Potter everyday and honestly I don't know where to begin." Ron kicked her again.   
  
"You're beating around the bush Hermione."   
  
"Right, well what I mean to say is that we're, that is Ron and I, and you too, well you're..."   
  
The door to their private room opened and Tom walked in with five big dishes. Only he wasn't carrying them. They were floating in air in front of him and they floated right onto the table where Harry, Hermione and Ron were sitting. Instead of looking at their food, Harry's two new friends were watching his face closely. But Harry didn't notice that, he was too busy looking at the plates levitating in the air. He didn't even realize when Tom the bartender gasped, said his name loudly, and reached out to shake his hand.   
  
"How did you do that?" Harry asked numbly. Tom just stood there with his hand extended in awe. He looked to Ron and Hermione.   
  
"Now is really not a good time, Tom. Can you get us some uhh...?"   
  
"Some of Ogden's firewhiskey," Hermione finished for Ron.   
  
"Yeah. Like the whole bottle."   
  
"Sure thing," Tom said quietly while turning to go, taking a moment to look back curiously at Harry.   
  
"What was that?" Harry asked.   
  
"We're wizards," Hermione said bluntly. "And so are you."   
  
"Way to go Hermione, right to the point," Ron said sarcastically at her side.   
  
Harry felt his legs move, he rose from the table and ran out into the main part of the pub. He wanted out of here. This was some sort of freak show nightmare he was in and he wanted no part of it. But he was forced to stop when he had gotten four steps out of the private room. Everyone was staring at him, forks held midair, steins of beer dripping onto their owner's laps, and mouths hung wide open. It was as if time was standing still.   
  
Harry felt Hermione's hand on his arm and her gentle voice in his ear.   
  
"Trust me. You want to come back into this room with me. Don't make a scene here."   
  
He turned and walked with her reluctantly and felt more confused than he had ever been in his life. She closed the door and sat down. But Harry didn't sit. He paced instead. Could this be real? He had seen some extraordinary things in here, but was it all just smoke and mirrors? Had they drugged him? Yes, that must have been it! There was something in that butterbeer stuff that Ron had given him.   
  
"What is going on?" he asked dumbly.   
  
"This is a pub. We're all wizards." Lunatics. They were all lunatics Harry realized   
  
"Okay, so people know who I am because they're wizards? They can read minds?" He asked sarcastically.   
  
"No, they know who you are because you're famous," Hermione answered.   
  
"Famous? For what?" He wouldn't even have considered that as a possibility if it hadn't been for the people he'd met over the years.   
  
Ron and Hermione looked at each other.   
  
"Stop that!" Harry yelled. "Stop looking at each other as if you have some profound and horrible thing to say to me. Just say it already!"   
  
"It's not that easy. God, we shouldn't be the ones to tell you any of this," Hermione said as she stood quickly. "Honestly, you should know already!" Harry noted to himself how upset she seemed over this. Why was it so difficult? What was so horrible about the situation that made her uncomfortable?   
  
"Fine, then will you just answer some questions I have?" he asked instinctively. He wished he'd known to bring the journal. He had about a hundred questions listed in there.   
  
"Sure," Ron said. "Anything you want to know."   
  
"What is Hogwarts?"   
  
"Phew, an easy one," Hermione said as she sat down at the table. "It's a school in Scotland. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It's where everyone in Britain goes to learn magic,"   
  
"Everyone?"   
  
"Well everyone who is a witch or wizard."   
  
"And I'm a wizard?" Harry asked just to make sure.   
  
"You sure are, mate."   
  
"Then why didn't I go to this school?"   
  
Ron and Hermione looked at each other, confused.   
  
"We were sort of hoping you would know."   
  
"Oh," Harry answered. "I guess it's because I didn't grow up with wizards. You think?"   
  
"I don't know," Hermione said. "I didn't grow up with wizards either. I found out I was a witch when the letter arrived. Did you ever get a letter?"   
  
A letter.   
  
Oh, Harry had gotten not a letter, but thousands of letters. He felt his blood begin to boil.   
  
He sat down at the table and stared off into space. The reality of it hit him like a bolt of lightning. Vernon Dursley, leader of the ant-Harry Potter movement, had seen those letters. He and his prissy wife had read them. They knew what he was. They knew what his parents were. Harry wanted to collapse under the weight of it all. He wanted to curl up in his dark cupboard where he used to dream of a better existence and just die.   
  
Hermione seemed to sense this and she moved her chair over to sit closer to him. The door opened and Tom brought in a big bottle of red liquid and three shot glasses. He poured them out and set one in front of Harry.   
  
"Had no idea did he?" Tom asked. He seemed to have caught on.   
  
Harry picked up the shot glass and downed the liquid inside. Simultaneous burning and tickling sensations with a chest lightening after effect rushed through Harry's veins. It no longer felt as though there were a piano on his chest.   
  
"Not a bloody clue," Ron said in a daze as he watched Harry pick up a second shot glass and down it as well.   
  
"Let me know if you need anything." Tom left.   
  
"I got letters," Harry said in a voice that quivered. "Thousands of them. The house was covered in them and he wouldn't let me near them." He noticed Hermione and Ron looking at each other again.   
  
"Oh my god," Hermione said, covering her mouth. She looked distraught. "I'm so sorry, Harry. We had no idea."   
  
"What am I famous for?" Harry asked quickly.   
  
"We should eat first," Hermione said motioning at the food on the table.   
  
"I suddenly don't feel hungry. Just tell me." He could feel he was on the edge of emotional breakdown. He wanted it all over with.   
  
She sighed and looked at Ron for help. He shrugged his shoulders. But before Hermione could start, Tom barged in again and handed Hermione a big book.   
  
"Figured you might want a visual," he said darkly. Harry read the spine of the book as Hermione took it from Tom. _Rise and Fall of the Dark Lord_. Tom left again.   
  
She set the book on the table, flipped through the pages until she was at a suitable one and then pushed it aside. She took a deep breath.   
  
"Understand, that we shouldn't be telling you this. Someone else should. Someone who was around then."   
  
"Just tell me," Harry pleaded. Hermione nodded.   
  
"Your parents didn't die in a car crash. In fact the mere idea of that is comical and... well... that's not important. Your parents were killed by a Dark wizard named Voldemort."   
  
Harry felt his eyes get really big. Ron seemed affected to. He was flinching.   
  
"Voldemort was, well _is_, a powerful Dark wizard who wants to take over the wizarding world. Your parents opposed him and because of this he came to kill them. When it was time to kill you, well... " Hermione looked at Ron. Ron looked helpless.   
  
"Well what?"   
  
"He couldn't."   
  
"He couldn't kill me?"   
  
"No. He tried. He had killed your mother, Lily and your father, James already. And they suppose you were just sitting there in your mother's arms when Voldemort cast the killing curse and you somehow... blocked it."   
  
"You're famous because it rebounded and crippled You-Know-Who..." Ron said.   
  
"He means Voldemort," Hermione said. "Just say his name Ron, he's not going to jump out and get you."   
  
"Fine. You're famous because it crippled Voldemort and you didn't die. You just got landed with that scar," Ron finished saying as he pointed at his forehead.   
  
Harry shook his head in disbelief. Could this possibly be true? Hermione pushed the book in front of him and Harry began to read. There were two long passages on his family, their struggle against this wizard, Voldemort, and how they had all died. _All except Harry_. The chapter heading was appropriately titled _The Boy Who Lived_. On the next page was a picture of a woman, a man who looked strikingly like Harry and between them they held a baby.   
  
Harry's stomach turned, and then so did his head and before he realized what was happening, he was on his hands and knees, vomiting all over the floor. Hermione and Ron were at his side, holding him up. He kept heaving and shaking. He felt the tears running down his cheeks and what poured forth afterwards was years of pain, torment and the torture of not knowing his parents or his self.   
  
When it was over, they had seated him back in the chair and Hermione was rubbing a hand lovingly on his back. Harry had his head in his hands.   
  
"This isn't happening to me," he stated out loud. Hermione and Ron didn't say anything but he could imagine that they were looking at each other mysteriously again. Everyone sat in silence for a while.   
  
"Do either of you have a car?" There was a brief moment of silence.   
  
"No. Why?"   
  
"I need to go somewhere."   
  
"You could take the Knight Bus," Ron offered. Harry sat up, sniffled and took off his glasses to wipe his eyes clean. Hermione offered him a handkerchief.   
  
"What's that?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling better despite the fact that he couldn't breathe out of his nose.   
  
"It's a magical bus. It will take you wherever you need to go."   
  
"But he'd need a wand to call it," Hermione said.   
  
"I'll call it for him. Where you heading? They don't go under water or anything so it will only be good if you're staying on the island." Harry gave him a sort of nonsensical look and Ron soon realized how crazy he sounded and smiled.   
  
"Just to Surrey and back. It's not far."   
  
"Surrey?"   
  
"It's where my Aunt and Uncle live."   
  
Hermione and Ron looked at each other again, but Harry ignored it.   
  
"Are you sure? You want to go there now?" Ron asked timidly.   
  
"Yeah. I need to have a little _chat_ with them."   
  
"Maybe we should go with you," Hermione offered. "Just in case." There was as hint of fear in her voice.   
  
"You don't have to."   
  
"But we should... We should make sure that nothing _happens_," Ron followed. "It's probably our duty or something now. But we should eat first. No use wasting all this food."   
  
Harry saw Hermione giving Ron a look that said _don't be so insensitive_. He turned to look at the table and the hamburger did look appetizing. Surprisingly, it wasn't cold at all.   
  
"Thank goodness for self warming plates," Ron said as he picked up a fork and dug into his roast.   
  
  
  
  
  
Harry thought the Knight Bus would be more appropriately named the _Nightmare Bus_. Hermione had insisted he wear the black cloak onto it for anonymity sake and he was now paying for it, sweating in the heat. They took a bed in the back and suffered through the sickening ride to Surrey in silence. Harry couldn't believe they'd ever give someone like Ernie, the bus driver, a license. He kept driving on the sidewalk and heading straight for lampposts that they never seemed to hit. Then Harry realized that maybe you didn't need a license to drive in the wizarding world.   
  
After a few minutes, he decided it was best just to look at the floor and not the scenery. It was too nerve racking.   
  
"Privet Drive, Surrey. Your stop, you three," shouted a man from the front. They hopped off the bus and stared down the street. It was dark out already and Harry wondered what the Dursleys were doing right now. They were probably watching the television.   
  
When the big purple bus had left, Harry took the cloak off and handed it gladly to Hermione. The three of them then marched up to Number 4. He pounded loudly on the front door and waited.   
  
"You!" were the first words out of Vernon Dursley's mouth. "Well, well, said you'd never come back eh? Here you are! I bet you want money or some such nonsense. Well you're not getting it from me!" Uncle Vernon went to slam the door in Harry's face, but he was stopped when he stepped over the threshold.   
  
He got into his uncle's face, close enough to force him to back up. Harry kept the door open for his two new friends and they closed it as they entered.   
  
"I want the letters," was the first thing Harry said.   
  
"What are you babbling about?"   
  
"The letters, from Hogwarts. I want them! You better still have one," Harry said in a low dangerous voice. He thought he saw his Uncle go ghost white.   
  
"Vernon? Who was that at the door?" His aunt came into the hallway and stopped dead when she saw Harry.   
  
"Why didn't you tell me what I was?" Harry asked her point blank. "Why didn't you tell me about my mother?"   
  
"I will have none of this in my house. Get out! All of you!" shouted Vernon Dursley.   
  
"Vernon?"   
  
The fat old man turned to see his wife looking pale and afraid.   
  
"Go get the box," she instructed.   
  
"Petunia?"   
  
"Please?" she asked. Harry stood there and watched his uncle waddle up the stairs. No one moved, but he noticed Ron looking curiously at the pictures on the walls.   
  
Uncle Vernon returned carrying a small box that he shoved into Harry's arms.   
  
"Now get out of my house," Petunia said firmly. "Everything we know is in that box. I don't ever want to see you again."   
  
"That isn't good enough for me," Harry said, clutching the box firmly to his chest. "I want answers! I want to know why you never let me go! And why you locked me in a cupboard for ten years! Why you hated me so much! I refuse to leave until you tell me!"   
  
Vernon Dursley looked like he might pick Harry up and forcibly remove him from his house when there was another firm knock on the door. Everyone jumped.   
  
"Look what you've done! You've aroused the neighbor's suspicions! Get out of the way, all of you and don't you dare say anything!"   
  
They did, and Vernon Dursley opened the door just wide enough to stick his thick head through. Harry heard the voice of a man.   
  
"I am looking for Harry Potter," it said.   
  
Ron and Hermione looked at one another. This time they seemed to be panicking as if they recognized the voice.   
  
"There's no such person here. Don't come here again!" Uncle Vernon shouted, but before he could close the door the man spoke again.   
  
"I believe he just arrived, with two friends?" At this, Uncle Vernon opened the door reluctantly.   
  
"Professor Dumbledore? Professor Snape?" Hermione asked in disbelief.   
---   
A few notes. Thank you very much to Flamin' June for the Britpick. Much appreciated and I will go back to fix my mistake when I have a chance.   
  
I want to comment on a few things in this chapter because I'm taking a few leaps of faith. First off, I'm making the assumption that despite Harry being absent in their lives Ron and Hermione are still friends. It's a big leap, but I think it's logical and I'll explain that at some point in the future.   
  
The second biggest 'whoah hold on there' is probably the reaction of the Leaky Cauldron to Harry when he walks out of the private room in TLC. Do they all recognize him immediately? Well, I'll just say wait for future chapters.   
  
There is a hint in there about what Voldemort is up to. Look closely.   
  
And why did Snape come with Dumbledore? Well, why does Snape do anything? =) 


	3. Explanations

Chapter 3: Explanations   
  
In the years to come, Harry would think back on this night and remember that he thought Albus Dumbledore looked like the stereotypical wizard that children everywhere dreamt up. He was something straight out of a fairytale with his long wizard beard, gray hair and pointy hat. This is perhaps why Harry liked him from the very first moment he spotted the old Headmaster at his Uncle's house, even before he introduced himself. It occurred quite effortlessly to Harry that this man could provide comfort, answers and some semblance of control in this chaotic situation. And maybe it was simply because Dumbledore had sought _Harry_ out, as if he were special and wanted.   
  
"May we come in?" he had asked Uncle Vernon politely.   
  
"Absolutely not! I will have none of this - nonsense - in my house! Now out, all of you!" It was sort of reaction that Harry had expected, and it confirmed something that had been mulling about in the back of Harry's mind like some sort of inevitable revelation. The Dursleys hated wizards, Harry was a wizard, and that's why they hated Harry. Up until now, it had never really been clear to Harry why his relatives had treated him so horribly and refused to accept his explanations when strange things just happened for no good reason. Harry wondered at that moment, in the midst of all that was going on, if his cousin knew what he was.   
  
When Uncle Vernon yelled at the gray haired man in front of him, Harry noticed the second person standing on the porch look sideways at his elder. It gave Harry the impression that people didn't speak that way to Albus Dumbledore very often. This other man was dressed all in black with a cloak of some kind over top in the same manner that certain people dressed up like vampires because they thought it meaningful in an artful way.   
  
"I certainly do not mind discussing our business outside; it is a rather nice evening wouldn't you agree Severus?"   
  
"Indeed," replied the other man curtly.   
  
"However, Mr. Dursley, I don't think it wise to have this discussion outside in plain sight, do you?"   
  
Harry watched in silence as Uncle Vernon was painfully weighing his options, neither of which seemed acceptable to him. He could either invite yet more wizards into his home, or let them carry on their unacceptable business outside where the neighbors could see. With a small growl, he stepped aside and let the two men in.   
  
"Hello, Hermione, Ron," a large smile broke out on Albus Dumbledore's face "and Harry. It is very nice to meet you."   
  
He stepped forward and shook Harry's hand firmly while introducing himself. Harry couldn't remember a time when he felt so excited to meet someone, and although he had no idea who the man was, it seemed clear that it was someone worth meeting. Even Ron and Hermione seemed moved by the moment.   
  
"And this is Severus Snape," Dumbledore said as he gestured in the other man's direction. Snape didn't offer a handshake however; he merely nodded his head and grunted. Harry got the impression that he wasn't pleased to be there.   
  
"Headmaster, we cannot afford to doddle," he said in a low voice.   
  
"Quite right. Ron, Hermione, I thank you for what you've done this evening. You should return home now, however, and we will take Harry."   
  
"Take me where?" he asked quickly before Hermione could say anything; Harry could tell she was on the verge of protesting. He clutched the box in his arms to his chest as if to mimic the thoughts in his mind; was he about to be deprived again of answers?   
  
"Somewhere safe," Dumbledore said kindly in a reassuring voice.   
  
Harry looked at his two new friends for answers but they looked just as confused as he.   
  
"Safe from what?"   
  
Severus Snape began to look more impatient. "We don't have time for this."   
  
"I will explain everything, I promise," Dumbledore said. He then turned to Snape and nodded.   
  
Before Harry could even contemplate what the head nod meant, Snape had pulled something out of his pocket and shoved it in Harry's free hand. A moment later, they were, for lack of a better term, somewhere else. It was like standing in a wind tunnel and Harry felt something pulling at his stomach. Everything around him was dark and the only thing visible was Snape, standing (was it even standing?) in front of him clutching the same object Harry was. In another moment, Harry found himself crashing hard into the ground and the stench of warm earth rose into his nostrils.   
  
A small pop several seconds later made him jump slightly and he looked up to see Albus Dumbledore profiled against a row of dark trees. Harry turned to see what else was around him, and over his shoulder he spotted the most beautiful thing he had ever seen before. Perched atop a cliff and overlooking a lake, on which the moon was reflected, was a castle. And it wasn't just any castle, it was one illuminated by hundreds of warm yellow lights bursting from the insides. The towers and turrets were clearly visible even in the nighttime, carefully outlined in the pale moon light. Harry sat on the ground for a moment and took in the beauty of it.   
  
"Welcome to Hogwarts, Potter." The voice was callous and cold and its owner sped off towards the castle hastily.   
  
- - -   
  
A half hour later, Harry found himself standing in a warm office surrounded by more moving pictures like the ones he had seen at dinner and silver gadgets of all kinds that had no apparent use, but were very interesting to look at. The walk to this place had only brought more questions to mind. Was that a ghost that he had seen? Who were those people at the entrance to the castle, and why were they standing there waiting? Who took care to light all the torches in the castle? Harry wished above all things that he had his journal to jot notes in.   
  
Dumbledore handed him a cup of tea and gestured for him to sit down as he himself took a seat behind the claw footed desk in the center of the room.   
  
"I have answers, Harry; in fact far more answers than you have questions."   
  
"Why did you bring me here?" Harry asked, taking the opportunity to heart. But before Dumbledore could answer, the door to his office burst open with a loud bang and a man slightly taller than Harry rushed in looking quite frazzled. He had dark shoulder length hair, pale eyes, and to Harry's surprise, was not really dressed like a wizard at all; he was wearing faded jeans and a black tee shirt. The ensemble was topped off with a cloak, though, that the stranger took off immediately and flung over the back of a chair.   
  
"Thank god, where did you find him?" he asked hastily of Dumbledore.   
  
"In Surrey with his aunt and uncle. Severus and I fetched him. Harry, this is Sirius Black."   
  
Harry stood and Sirius walked to him quickly but instead of taking the hand Harry had offered, he embraced him in a tight hug. Not used to displays off affection (as the Dursleys had never given him any) Harry simply stood there in awe with his hands at his side. Dumbledore must have read the confusion on Harry's face because he cleared his throat and with a wave of his wand prepared a cup of tea for the new comer. Sirius took a seat opposite of Harry and studied him intently. It was clear that whatever Dumbledore had to say the stranger was going to be here for it. Harry felt slightly uncomfortable about that, but was afraid that saying anything to that affect might result in him not learning why he was here.   
  
"As to why you're here, Harry, I believe some background information about your parents is required. Unfortunately, I'm not sure of how much you already know."   
  
"I know that my parents were wizards and that they didn't die in a car crash," he paused momentarily when he saw the look on Sirius's face. "That's what my aunt and uncle have always told me. I know now that they were murdered by Vol-something... I forget his name," he said weakly.   
  
"Voldemort, Harry. His name was Voldemort," Dumbledore replied.   
  
"And Voldemort tried to kill me, but couldn't. That's all I know." Dumbledore nodded his head.   
  
"What you don't know Harry, is that your parents knew that Voldemort was seeking them out and in order to protect them, a group of people went to great lengths to ensure they wouldn't be harmed." At this Dumbledore waved vaguely to Sirius and himself. "Unfortunately one of those individuals was working for Voldemort; someone who was a good friend to your parents. That someone betrayed their location the night they died."   
  
"But why did Voldemort want my parents dead?" Harry asked, ignoring for now the questions he had in his mind about this _friend_.   
  
Dumbledore and Sirius looked at one another gravely. "That's a story for another time, Harry, when you and I have a chance to talk alone," Sirius said. Harry got the impression that Sirius knew more than the average person did about this situation.   
  
"When Voldemort was destroyed by the curse that backfired, he retreated into seclusion," Dumbledore said quickly as an obvious diversion.   
  
"You mean he's not dead?"   
  
"Quite the contrary, and this is where it becomes complicated. You see, Harry, Voldemort was not always the wizard that we in the wizarding world think of today. Few know that he was once, like you, young, vibrant and -- human. In fact he excelled in normal society; he was Head Boy here at Hogwarts in his day and is noted as probably one of the most brilliant minds we have ever had the honor to teach. Tom Riddle, as he was known in those days, was heavily into the Dark Arts - a branch of magic that deals with the darker side of our world -- death, cruelty, torture, and the like. When he was at school here he constructed a number of crafty plots and since his downfall, faithful followers have carried out those plots.   
  
"One such plot brought to life his sixteen year old self about five years ago."   
  
Harry felt his jaw drop.   
  
"How?"   
  
"Very powerful dark magic. We're not even entirely sure how it happened. There are rumors that he had enchanted a diary and that it fell into the hands of a young girl. Her name was Ginny Weasley, you met her brother Ron today." Dumbledore went very quiet for a moment as he sipped on his tea pensively.   
  
"Ginny, and many others, died during the event." Harry immediately felt sorry for his new friend, Ron.   
  
"And because of this diary, Tom Riddle was... reborn, or something? That can happen?"   
  
"Yes." Harry sat and thought on this a moment. It was all completely nonsensical to him, this discussion of enchanted diaries and people being brought back to life. Contemplating on it all was enough to give him a headache, so he forced himself to drink more tea and pretend he was simply thinking through a fantasy novel, the way he had when he was a child. He put down all his barriers between fantasy and reality and tried to think imaginatively about the situation.   
  
"Then there are two of them," he said quickly, realizing what this had meant. Dumbledore beamed at him.   
  
"There are two of them."   
  
"Thankfully, they don't like each other very much," Sirius added with a small smile on his face. "Tom Riddle, once he had seen what had become of himself, went sort of mad, you might say. He denounced all of Voldemort's followers, including the ones that brought him back. Now, he is attempting to seek to his original goals through political means rather than by picking up on his old antics."   
  
"Goals?"   
  
"The exclusion of Muggle-borns from wizarding society." Sirius wasn't making a lot of sense.   
  
"Sorry, what does that mean?"   
  
"Muggle-borns are people born with magical powers, but who have no magical parents. People like Tom Riddle, and Voldemort, don't feel that people without magical parents deserve to be taught magic or to live in our society. It's a load of rubbish," Sirius explained.   
  
"That was his original goal? But Voldemort, I mean the Voldemort that killed my parents, doesn't want that anymore?"   
  
"Eventually," Sirius said solemnly. "But Voldemort wants only one thing now, and that is to see you dead." Harry felt himself go pale.   
  
"You destroyed Voldemort, and even I am puzzled as to how, Harry. He has sought you out as best he can in his present state. Unfortunately he is weak, physically and his younger self is keeping him from finding followers who would help restore him to health and power," Dumbledore said.   
  
"Tom Riddle, on the other hand, seems quite amused that you're living as a Muggle and is happy to see you doing just that. He has spies that watch you to make sure you stay in their world and the moment he sees you associating with us, he'll probably make a move to eliminate you. It would look like a move on your part to destroy him. But as long as you're not in the wizarding world, he wouldn't see you as a threat," Sirius added.   
  
Harry suddenly realized the gravity of it all. Now that he knew he was a wizard, Voldemort, or rather Tom Riddle, would want him dead. The thought of spies watching him sent a chill through his spine, it was just as he had fantasized about it. Only now it was real and real people wanted him dead.   
  
"That's why you came to get me after Ron and Hermione found me. So he wouldn't first?"   
  
"Yes," Sirius answered. "I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you. And neither would your parents." For reasons unknown to him, Harry warmed instantly to Sirius at that moment. He had never had anyone who unquestioningly cared about him on that level. Sure, Sarah had always been there for him when he needed a shoulder to cry on or someone to talk with, but she never expressed this sort of undying care for him. Sarah, his best friend who went with him everywhere and Sarah, his friend...   
  
"He wouldn't go after my friends would he?"   
  
"As a means to get to you? He might."   
  
"Sarah! I have to tell her," Harry said instantly as he rose from the chair, still clutching the box to his chest, and made for the door. "How can I get back to London?" Dumbledore and Sirius were sitting, looking somewhat puzzled now.   
  
- - -   
  
A half hour later Harry found himself standing beside Sirius at the door to Sarah's flat. He was having a hard time finding the courage to knock and the other man seemed to sense this.   
  
"Waiting for an invitation are we?"   
  
"I just don't know what I'm going to say her. She's not the kind of girl that you can just ask to pick up and leave. She'll want and explanation and I'll have to tell her the truth, and... I'm not at all used to it myself, you know."   
  
"I won't pretend to know how you're feeling Harry. The truth may not be necessary now, you know. You could just tell her you got into some trouble with the wrong sort of Muggles. Muggles do get into this sort of trouble don't they?"   
  
Harry thought Sirius was kidding, but the look on his face said otherwise.   
  
"I guess," Harry knocked three times. "Just go along with whatever I do. And be prepared to protect yourself. She's fierce when angry."   
  
"Why should she be angry? It's not like you knew."   
  
Harry went to knock again when he heard the chain slide on the door and the two locks unclick. Sarah was wearing a bathrobe and white fuzzy socks. Her short blond hair was tousled and tucked behind her ears. She had obviously been sleeping when they called.   
  
"Harry! It's the middle of the night! What's the matter? Is everything all right?"   
  
"Not really, can we come in and talk?"   
  
Sarah realized at that moment that he was with someone; she looked Sirius up and down cautiously.   
  
"It's ok; he's a friend of mine."   
  
She opened the door and they came in. Sirius began looking around for signs of trouble, or at least that's what Harry thought he was doing, until he walked over to the television and began to inspect it mysteriously. He knew this explanation would have to come fast.   
  
"Sit down," he told Sarah as he dragged her into the kitchen. "I have something really important to say. I'm not sure how to say it, so just hear me out." It was a good thing, Harry thought, that Sarah was still slightly groggy. Normally there was no way she'd ever take an order from Harry. She slumped into one of her kitchen chairs and Harry took one opposite of her.   
  
"You remember the two people that came in the shop today?" he began.   
  
"The two weird ones who waited around all day and asked you to go out for a bite? Yeah I remember them."   
  
"Well they told me why people recognize me, and they told me all about my parents."   
  
Sarah's face lit up. Harry felt somewhat relieved as he thought the rest of this might go much easier if she understood what it meant to him.   
  
"Well, my parents weren't exactly... normal. They were... well to put it bluntly, they were wizards."   
  
He held his breath waiting for her to reply. A look of concern and then sadness came across her face.   
  
"Oh Harry. Are you honestly going to believe two complete strangers? I know you've been looking for answers for so long, but don't just settle for the first thing someone tells you. I can't imagine _you_ believing that your parents were just part of some entertainment act."   
  
A loud crash from the other room startled them and they heard a muted 'Sorry' from Sirius. Sarah became distracted.   
  
"It's not a lie," he replied impatiently. "And I don't mean _wizard_ in the circus sense of the word. I mean it in the _real_ sense, as in magic."   
  
Sarah looked at him as though he were insane. There was only one way to cure her doubt, and Harry knew it.   
  
"Sirius, uh... can you come here for a moment?   
  
Sirius walked around the corner into Sarah's small kitchen area. He looked strangely foreboding as he towered over them.   
  
"Um. We need a demonstration or something." Sirius raised his eyebrows questionably. "You know, hocus pocus," Harry waved his arms around the way he'd seen Dumbledore do earlier.   
  
Sirius pulled his wand out of a pocket that must have been on his backside somewhere and cleared his throat. He pointed it at the sugar bowl on the table and muttered Wingardium Leviosa. The sugar bowl floated in midair for a few seconds, spun around like a ballerina and then rested gently back on the table. Harry looked at Sarah for her reaction. She was furious, which is not what he had expected.   
  
"I don't believe you woke me up in the middle of the night for this nonsense," she said firmly as she stood up. "Where did you meet him, Harry? Is there a circus in town? Don't you see that he's playing a trick on you! Snap out of it Potter!" She reached across the table and slapped Harry firmly across the face. He felt his head turn sharply and the sting of female fingers on his cheeks resonated for several seconds.   
  
Sirius caught her wrist as she retracted.   
  
"Say what you want about our kind, but don't you dare hit my godson like that again. Do you hear me?"   
  
Godson? Harry looked up at Sirius, who was now very flushed and angry.   
  
"I'm your godson?" he asked, forgetting the reason they were here.   
  
"Yes." Sirius was still looking at Sarah, who under his hateful gaze was shirking away. "Now listen here young lady. He came here to tell you this because you're in danger and because he's a gentleman. I would expect that as his friend you'd show him the same kind of respect."   
  
Sarah slumped into her seat as Sirius let go of her wrist. Harry thought she might cry. Never before had he seen her so sullen.   
  
"Now let's get this straight. I'm a wizard, Harry's parents were wizards and so is he. You want undeniable proof?" Sarah nodded her head timidly. The next thing Harry knew, he was staring at a big black dog. Both Harry and Sarah gasped and rose from the table to get away from it. Seconds later, it had turned back into Sirius Black.   
  
"All right. Wizard. I get it." Sarah muttered to herself between gasps of breath.   
  
  
  
---   
by: ezzie - read/review.   
  
A note or two on this one. I had written it before OoTP so it's been slightly modified, but not by much. I hope it makes sense to everyone =) 


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